


Swelter With Me

by Green_Destiny



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Heatwave, Hot Sex, Hot Weather, Keith (Voltron) is a good husband, M/M, Married Sheith, Multiple Orgasms, Pandemics, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Shower Sex, Wet & Messy, lockdown - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27178000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Destiny/pseuds/Green_Destiny
Summary: Shiro and Keith experience lockdown in a heatwave.Oh, and the AC is broken.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 186





	Swelter With Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was me trying to deal with the heatwave we had in my country in September and exorcising as many heat related analogies as I could. Enjoy!

When they're one Earth day away from returning home from a mission, Shiro and Keith receive a briefing from Coran about the lockdown the country is currently enduring. A virus of some sort, they’re told. It’s non-specific, and oddly unCoran-like in its briefness. Much of what they expect to hear goes unsaid, and they have the remainder of the journey to wonder about the kind of Earth they’re about to return to.

The last thirty-seventeen days and nine hours have been spent around the Oaricon 4 system aboard their twelve-man miniship. The insular nature of a few people millions of miles away from any other inhabited world has left the crew with a note of cabin fever, and an itching to reconnect with home soil.

A decontam shower and a debrief later, the new government guidelines are well and truly drilled into their heads. What they weren't briefed on, however, is the serious heat wave engulfing the whole of the southwest, and the fact that the AC in their apartment had all but puttered out during their absence. Their apartment is boiling and Shiro can’t stand it. 

There are some things the Garrison do well and some things that get pushed to the side of the plate. Garrison lodgings, for example. The privileges of rank doesn’t extend to an autonomy of living separate from the rest of the base. And this umbilical tether is why they can’t call an out of house engineer if anything stops working, being that they live in a highly classified military facility. Base engineers and mechanics can only be called out at certain times of the day, and in a pandemic, they’re stretched thin.

And knowing this, knowing how much Shiro _hates_ the heat, Keith can only sit and watch as his husband offers his soul up for murder trying to get through to someone at the office. Shiro's single-handedly torn through a whole Galra battalion in the Black Lion before, but he’s even more breathtaking like this, stripped down to his underwear and pacing up and down their living room, fuming while he’s on hold.

It’s like the hundred Fahrenheit duress has flipped a switch in him and he can’t stop swearing up a storm, saying things like “Who the fuck can live like this!?” and, “Death is a dream compared to this!” while Keith watches on passively. Blow ups like this are so rare they’re practically myths, and witnessing one with a relaxed, neutral eye is the caveat Keith forces himself to retain to not ruin the phone conversation, because this is an entirely inappropriate time to get an erection.

He’s transfixed on a small droplet of sweat that drips from Shiro’s temple onto his shoulder and rolls over the swell of his pec, and he’s biting every cuticle on his hand to stop it from reaching for Shiro all on its own.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Shiro booms and throws the phone onto the couch, collapsing down onto it with his frustration clamouring off the walls.

Keith's immediately there to gather him into his arms. “What did they say?”

“They’re limited to skeleton staff. An engineer will be out as soon as one’s available,” Shiro regurgitates, in the same manner as the voice on the phone.

Keith nods, acknowledging calmly, then says, “Want me to bring one here against his will?”

Shiro chuffs out a laugh despite the tempting offer. “Your brand of negotiation only causes me more paperwork.”

Keith’s mouth curls. "Turns me on to see a disciplinary report from Captain T. Shirogane.”

"About Lieutenant K. Shirogane; Head of Voltron, Senior Blade of Marmora, first officer of the Atlas Mark-II vessel. You’re very accomplished for a delinquent.” Shiro moves in closer and Keith cards his hand through Shiro’s silver strands, content on keeping them there on account of Shiro’s relaxed sighs. Then Shiro releases a frustrated growl and smooshes his despair straight into Keith’s chest. "I swear this administration hates me.”

Eight months into peacetime and Shiro still can’t shake the thought that they disapprove of him somehow. They’d been apologetic, or as apologetic as a board of commissioners could be after having declared him dead. After bringing the universe's greatest weapon to Earth and ending Sendak's scourge, an official apology is just one of many insurmountable debts they owe to Shiro. They've given him four stripes on his uniform now, a desk and a name plate with ‘Captain’ in front of it, he commands a sentient ship and he’s ridiculously young to be in such a high position but it was meant for him beyond a shadow of a doubt, carved into the sinews of him from the very start. Keith never downplays the adoration he feels every time he looks at Shiro and sees the brilliant man he’s become. 

"Of course they don’t hate you,” Keith tells him, stroking a thumb over Shiro’s adorably petulant expression. “They love you only a little bit less than I do," he adds, pecking a row of kisses that starts from Shiro's lips and ends somewhere in his hairline.

Shiro softens and presses their foreheads together, his pout dissolving into a fond smile Keith would’ve destroyed the universe thrice over to protect. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish we didn’t have to deal with this when we’ve just come back from a mission.”

"There’s nothing to apologise for,” Keith reassures. “I’m just glad Kosmo’s with my mom, he would’ve hated it too, and I don’t think I could’ve dealt with two suffering boys.”

Shiro huffs a small laugh and ducks his head, looking at his Altean arm. “If only I knew how to overclock the coolant system in this new arm to make it a little more bearable.”

Since its design overhaul, Shiro’s Altean arm has been remodeled and streamlined with a newly built bicep and everything elegantly self-contained, less of a mysterious bulk of floating metal. Sure, it can’t turn into a functional AC or play one-sided fetch with Kosmo anymore, but it’s part of Shiro, and Keith’s grateful he can tuck himself into it to feel the full squeeze of Shiro's hug once more. “I like it, this new design. It feels good, more like the old you.”

Shiro swivels the arm and the lights hum with a gentle ionic buzz, all powered by Shiro’s unerringly strong life force. “Yeah,” Shiro agrees, smile broadening, “I feel like everything's back where it should be.”

Keith mirrors his smile and grazes along Shiro’s metallic forearm, spreading his fingers out until their hands steeple together at the tips. Seconds of wordless affection pass by and it goes a little way towards easing some of Shiro’s tension. Everything about the satisfaction of this moment, the peace in their smiles and the tactile comfort only amplifies what the heat is already doing to them, and Keith can’t help but act on it. 

“There’s something else I like about this arm,” Keith adds, slotting his fingers to lace their hands together.

Shiro tips an inquisitive, “Yeah?” and the excitement scrolls readily past his face when he’s hauled up onto his feet and led through their apartment. 

"I like when it's pulling me into the shower and making me forget how to threaten engineers with a deadly weapon."

"My violent husband." 

Shiro beams one of Keith’s all time favourite expressions and takes over the initiative, striding Keith straight into their bathroom as the first wave of lust hits them. It’s a low-effort distraction, Keith knows, but a necessary one to keep Shiro functioning under the martial fist of galactic bureaucracy at ten thousand degrees C.

Rarely do they get to take their spaceship and just disappear for several months, and when they do, it invariably puts the Garrison on edge ( _When are they coming back? Who sanctioned this? Where are they getting the money from?_ ) For the amount of times Shiro’s been rendered insensate by endless board meetings, it's been left to Keith to steer them into wide open uncharted space (great cover for all kinds of shit) so they can spend a while depressurising from it all. If Keith had his way, they’d have three months to themsleves to do nothing but fuck each other’s brains out, stop off at a nearby backwater planet with a pleasure-moon and spend another three months there too, in consummate bliss. 

So leave it to Keith to do whatever he can to make this lockdown bearable for his husband. He wants Shiro to work out all his frustrations, find anything he wants and needs in him, forget about work and the ten billion degrees outside and focus on nothing but the pleasure they bring each other.

Standing under the spray of the shower, cool is suddenly abhorrent to Keith. He's lived out in the desert for months on end, he's somehow made it through the most inhospitable heat on Earth but it's still no comparison to Shiro's gigantic embrace holding him against the wall of their shower, biceps and thighs and shoulders you could hang off trapping him in a blazing warmth. 

He’s cupped under his ass and spread open, being teased mercilessly into readiness in an impressive show of strength and dexterity from Shiro’s new arm that Keith can’t be mad about. But he is. So mad. Keith swears he’s been ready ever since they touched down on base, since they entered the furnace and his husband threw off all his clothes in frustration and stirred up that amazing storm on the phone. He doesn't need any more teasing. "I'm good, Shiro, just…put it in, c'mon."

Shiro presses close and swoops in to crush their lips together, and Keith’s finally allowed to taste the cock pressing into him. They stay against the wall for a moment, breathing wetly together and Keith luxuriates in the shiver rolling his husband’s eyes back into his head when he sinks fully into his warmth and visually melts into the slope of his neckline. 

“Mmmm….there you go, baby,” Keith hums lovingly into Shiro’s ear, raking his hands to soothe through Shiro’s wet hair and down the hard planes of his back and up through the nape of his neck. Shiro’s breathing heavily into his shoulder already and Keith cups his jaw to kiss him when Shiro looks too bowled over, like this feeling could bring him to his knees. “You doin’ okay?”

“Y—Yeah, baby, it’s just...you feel so good I can never keep a straight head.”

Great mother of space, he loves this man so much. He had every intention of keeping his front, making sure Shiro was taken care of, but all of it withers into a lovestruck, doe-eyed smile that folds him so easily. His thumbs stroke ceaselessly over Shiro’s cheeks, gripping him harder with his legs as he tries to find his words.

_I wouldn’t be much of a husband if I didn’t know what you needed,_ he thinks. _I want you to let me do these things for you, I want you to let me take the weight off your shoulders._

“I want to be good for you,” Keith settles on saying, leaning in to feather kiss after kiss to Shiro’s lips and curl every inch of himself against his heated, wet skin. “So good,” he kisses again when Shiro starts to move in earnest and makes Keith’s body sing with pleasure until his head tilts back onto the cool chill of the tiles and the whole world burns away. “We’re gonna get through this. I promise.”

☼ 

Keith's never been good at calculating risks, and he doubts he'll begin now. He understands their predicament wholeheartedly. While on humanitarian missions with the Blades, Keith’s seen pandemics destroy planets, eradicate whole civilisations, wipe out millions upon millions of lives. He knows this is a universal fight and they need to do their part and follow the scientific guidelines, but he’s a thousand percent more devoted to Shiro's happiness at all costs, and that’s reason enough for him to be outside in full Blades bodysuit and mask. He strides out onto an unusually desolate open plaza of the Garrison's commercial zone where the tall central tower that was once filled with floor after floor of shops and eateries are limited to the bare essentials; food, military and medical supplies. Keith buys enough groceries to tie them over for at least a week as well as buying the only desk fan left on the supemarket's bare shelves.

He’s wary of the handful of roving cadets gathering too closely, all hell ready to be unleashed with a cough or a sneeze. To those who recognise it, just the sight of him in his Blade’s attire has enough agency to send them splitting back to their quarters. It’s not his job to keep tabs on everyone but at least it's something. Besides, it’s hard to focus on anyone else when the eddy of his thoughts are with Shiro lying stark naked on their bed with a cooling gel pack on his forehead wishing the world would freeze over.

He enters their apartment as silently as possible but the sound of the front door draws Shiro out from the bedroom, appearing through the doorway a few moments later as naked as when Keith left him.

Shiro scrubs a hand over his face. “You went out? Why didn’t you wake me so I could go with you?”

Keith manages to offload the bags gracefully onto the floor and wordlessly hands over the fan box. As soon as he disables his Marmora facemask he’s crowded and smeared with drowsy kisses. 

“Thank you thank you thank you, baby.”

Keith sighs happily, holding both sides of Shiro’s face and turning it to kiss his cheek. “Just doing what I can to keep my world happy.” He turns in Shiro’s hold and lifts his hair up to present his back. "Can you unzip me?” He knows it's a strike-line of eroticism to his husband; the long, continuous embrace of his Marmora suit is kryptonite to Shiro every time the zip comes down and a ritualistic kiss drops onto the nape of his neck.

“Baby, you’re sweating,” Shiro comments idly, tucking his mouth into the side of his neck and streaming a lazy row of kisses down to his shoulder.

“It’s hot out there, but so much hotter in here,” Keith replies, giving a blissful sigh to the air hitting his skin when the skin-tight suit peels off his shoulders, at the same time Shiro’s arms encircle him and perches his chin in the crook of his neck, swaying him gently.

“Mmmm,” Shiro purrs, agreeing, or simply a sound that rumbles out when he’s sleep-soft. Keith doesn't doubt for a second that Shiro's still half asleep and half brain dead with it, handsy and inelegant but no less achingly tender. Keith’s woken up some mornings to find Shiro’s laced their hands together during the night, or tangled him up so bodily that not even air can pass through, and on account of that and all of Shiro’s horny-brained good will, Keith feels greedy, indulged, lights that flutter that always loves how Shiro’s half-awakened stupidity immolates him on the spot.

Now Keith needs those hands to _help_ him. Marmoran fabric is formulated to be nearly impossible to tear but Shiro’s managed it on occasion in his haste to get them naked and Keith could really use that same horny energy right now, but instead Shiro just wants to hold him, and so a struggle ensues at the front door, Keith’s need to get naked toppled by Shiro’s need to mold every square inch of himself to Keith’s back and make his bed there. He keeps wanting to kiss and Keith keeps trying, God knows he’s trying to create space where there isn’t any, his pleas of “Shiro, just let me…” meets the lazy lassitude of “Mmmm...five more minutes,” humming against his cheek and Keith’s laughing at the irony of it. Nothing could help him at this point.

He almost feels bad having to pry out the hands that’ve snuck underneath his suit to grope around his midriff; it inadvertently pushes the suit past his hips for him to wriggle the remainder of the way out of, fucking _finally_. And when he’s finally shucked it off both feet, Shiro turns him around to press in earnest against him, wrap himself up fully and Keith ascends with the slow kisses against the wall. He lets out a breathy “Oh—” and sucks air between his teeth when the chiseled planes of Shiro’s chest and abs and every other part of him work him towards spontaneous combustion at his husband's maddening leisure. Keith couldn’t adore it more even if he wanted to, but it’s dangerous... he’s gonna have to refine his strategies if they’re gonna keep going like this, there’ll be no surviving this lockdown wholly intact otherwise.

“Get the fan set up and we can fuck on the couch, yeah?” Keith breathes against Shiro’s lips, stroking the sides of his face and nipping him sweetly for every second Shiro takes to answer.

Shiro nods, “Yeah, Keith...yeah, mmnn—” returning an enthusiastic flurry of kisses of his own. 

“Okay, baby. Go do it,” Keith nods with him, and then lets himself eat up all of that view as Shiro takes the box to the living room and the endorphins dry his mouth to a desert.

Keith walks in all his nakedness to the kitchen and jams a glass under the refrigerator’s ice dispenser, pressing a few cubes along his neck while he waits for it to fill and calls to Shiro if he wants some water as well. When there’s no answer he peers around the wall to see the box abandoned and Shiro collapsed on the sofa with his head flung back at the mercy of the heat again. More than a cue for Keith to handle his husband’s suffering and set up the fan himself.

He unboxes it and sets it on the coffee table, clicking it on and then slips straight into Shiro’s lap as the lapping breeze brings him back to the world, and back to Keith. The subsequent purring moan is probably the most delicious thing Keith's heard all day, sweeps him up in the newness of an existence without life-threatening drama to amplify the beauty in the simplest, most mundane things. Watching the silver of Shiro’s eyes cracking open approaches that pretty quickly, and when they fix on him, naked and holding up two glasses of ice water, Shiro slumps back again, squeezing his eyes firmly shut, chanting, “Please let this be heaven. Please, _please_.”

Keith rolls his eyes affectionately. “Not yet, sweetheart. Here.” 

He hands over the glass and Shiro takes it without question, drinking it down in large gulps as if he's searching for nirvana at the bottom of it, and maybe he does from how quickly his tune changes.

“Better?" Keith says. "Gotta stay hydrated," and drinks down his own glass, the few drops that escape and roll down his chin holding Shiro mesmerised.

“There can never be enough water,” Shiro murmurs, wetting his lips, and the veil of thirst setting over those grey eyes exhilarates Keith something insane. 

He leans in and feels the tidal wave of a shudder move through his spine, building him up to say, “Drink this, then,” against Shiro's lips, ghosts the words over the wetness of them before kissing them fully, uncomplicated, like everything in their life should be.

"Maybe it’s good that I’m always thirsty then,” Shiro lilts, grinning, and takes long, savouring licks of Keith’s lips like he really is tasting him, uninterrupted and soul-stealing, sends shivers all the way down Keith’s body along with Shiro’s hands to close fistfuls around his buttocks with bruising force. 

“ _Shiro_ ,” he gasps, and rolls his hips in silent supplication, feeling Shiro’s hardness grow between his thighs and tastes a growl that chases away any thought of doing this slow.

They feel around blindly for the lube in every crevice of the couch until it's grabbed in a coordinated clutch, and by now both of their bodies are begging, the press of their lips insistent, Keith wants a hand on his cock maybe but Shiro wants to murmur a litany around their heavy kisses. "I should’ve got us back on that ship — Knew as soon as we touched down I wanted to be back up there with you — Should’ve worm-holed us away somewhere — Should’a let them court-martial me.”

Keith punches out a tiny rasp and squeezes Shiro’s jaw, stopping him from venturing that thought any further. He knows it’s the heat talking, compromising Shiro’s brain cells into wanting a permanent black mark on his record, and at the same time Keith’s impulsive, reckless heart knows first hand that this is exactly the kind of thing you do for the one you love; travel to the edges of the universe for them — but they can’t, not in this instance. So he wraps his arms around this big, sweaty boy and kisses him, just kisses him, until he understands how much his devotion is cherished, how much Keith’s heart wants to grant him every want and wish and every orgasm he can physically muster.

He’s taking slow, deep breaths and the conscious effort of not moving when Shiro’s throbbing between his legs could kill even a seasoned pornstar. He pours lube over them both, because they’re going to need it, and mavourvers over Shiro’s dick to line himself up.

Their earlier fuck makes this an easy ride, he’s able to swallow Shiro all the way down, right down to the hilt in a breathlessly slow slide that’s hotter than anything Keith’s ever taken. He’s clenching with it, honey-sweet moans filling the whole room and once he hits his rhythm he rolls with it, rocks down onto this molten, amazing cock until Shiro’s rendering his hands all over his ass and lower back. 

“Baby...you’re hotter than the damn sun,” Shiro growls out, interspersed with the most edible moans Keith’s ever heard that make it hard to breathe, harder to think.

Keith squeezes his hands in Shiro’s pecs and preens at the words, leaving petal shaped marks where his fingers indent and he’s getting maddeningly close to coming soon, embarrassingly soon. This is where the cracks start to reveal themselves, with the right pressure and the right heat and the perfect hot dives of Shiro’s tongue and big hands caressing all over his sweat-soaked body, stroking the tops of his thighs and swiping up to pinch his nipples into angry red nubs.

The fan’s intermittent breeze becomes a barely perceptible ambience very quickly. Keith burns and burns and burns and his whole world is the epitome of fire; his personality, his Lion, his heart... Shiro whispers _"I love you"_ to him and just a single phrase sets his whole damn world ablaze, melts him in their most intense moments with the intention to render him useless for the remainder of an entire week, practically.

☼ 

It’s a special kind of high spending lockdown with the one you love the most, simmering in flames for days and days on end, only when they take a pause (and it is just a pause) does it remind Keith what it feels like to be empty and not brimming full all the time. Replace heat with another kind of heat and multiply it exponentially and Keith wonders if people can really die from too many endorphins.

“Your Galra stamina won't allow it,” Shiro chuckles, smug while he’s kissing the messy spend down the river of Keith’s abs.

It says as much about Shiro’s stamina as Keith’s own bastardised biology being that this very man was ready to give up the ghost at the start of it all. Now the shoe’s on the other foot and Keith finds himself guiltily loving it anyway, how he managed to provoke someone as professional and diligent and straightlaced as Shiro into this insatiable, impossibly delicious state.

And that's the irony of it, really, six or seven days later. It’s still ungodly hot, too hot to do anything and Shiro’s pulling Keith’s arms to loop around his neck so they can melt into each other in as many ways as humanly possible. They’re absolutely wet beyond belief, soaked and sizzling and the obsession to remain like this spills over into every new day.

To think, this is reality and not a dream; they’re so lost in each other he’s forgotten that the galaxy still revolves, that even though Earth’s ground to a semi-halt, their intergalactic neighbours still request Shiro’s audience for video conferences, even if it is from their living room. Coran and Veronica chime in every so often, with Keith bringing him food and iced coffee for particularly long stretches. With all of Keith’s operations cancelled, he’s effectively decommissioned, if only temporarily, and so he’s taken up the new mantle of being the stark opposite of Shiro’s professionalism.

They lost two whole days to Keith in his tiny booty shorts and cropped t-shirt, intent on doing nothing more than attention-fucking his husband while Shiro's holographic comms feed showed a whole delegation present in the day’s meeting. Shiro may have had a captive audience but only he had view of Keith’s mile long legs and the slender flow of his body milling around their apartment. To say it drove the man mad is a pity of an understatement; there’s nothing quite like watching someone immolate in real time.

The second the conference concluded Shiro nearly flipped the coffee table to get to Keith and they fucked right there on the fancy Altean rug given to them as a wedding gift, because the desire to scramble for a better place was conquered by their desire to be touching all over, skin to skin, for Shiro to be pushing inside of him hot and wet and so fucking _good_.

His toes curl into the bed and the shudders arrive, hot and spontaneous at the memory. Shiro was so clouded over with lust Keith doesn't remember his feet touching the floor for the entirety of those two days, lost in the ether of wanting and wanting and never having enough because surely there is no such thing. This lockdown’s been _more_ than a provocation, it’s restructured their lives, hemmed them in and held them down and the way they’ve been chasing intimacy to cope is like being underwater and chasing for oxygen.

The wet pout of Keith’s kiss-bitten mouth keeps whining — he has no idea what he’s asking for, but Shiro’s chuckling softly above him as if he knows precisely, scraping his teeth over the flared nub of one of Keith's abused nipples and the surprise bite has Keith losing it within a few seconds. His cock’s still drooling and Shiro slips his hand lower to tug on it, feeling it absurd that he's hard again when they just finished...

"Keith, baby,” Shiro breathes up against his throat, and the way his voice frays is gratifying enough without the declaration that pours a whole ocean into Keith's heart, “I'll never be able to go back to work after this."

Shiro sounds genuinely grief-stricken and Keith adores and adores him. He consoles his sad look with a kiss and then rolls them over so he can be on top, looking down at the sweetness of Shiro sucking his lip in anticipation. "Careful what you wish for,” he’s saying, reaching behind him to free Shiro’s considerable erection. “This virus ain’t going away tomorrow. Who knows how long it’s gonna take for things to get back to how they were.”

“I’m already accepting this as the new normal,” Shiro sighs out, but he’s laughing with it, and when Keith begins stroking his cock it gets Shiro’s spine curving, delicious.

“Yeah, baby,” Keith agrees, “The base is a no-go. Ships are grounded. If we can’t fly we can’t do much, ‘cept you can put a hand up my skirt any time you want now.”

Shiro barks out a laugh, his whole body vibrating, and Keith’s beside himself just listening to it whilst rubbing Shiro’s cock between the cleft of his ass and having it smear messily over his cheeks.

As Shiro’s laugh peters out, he insists, "You're going to kill me," blowing his damp forelock off his forehead and grinning. 

Keith tapers forward, placing his hand on Shiro’s chest, right above his quickening heartbeat, and gives a grin of his own. “And I know you don’t wanna be saved.”

“Fuck, baby,” Shiro groans and rises onto his elbows to meet him in the middle for a hard kiss. Keith brings his hand to hold the nape of Shiro’s neck and cries around the excruciating reality of wanting so much and getting exactly that. He wants to fend off thoughts of normality after this, the daily grind and Shiro being too exhausted to even eat when he comes home. In a weird perspective, being in lockdown has brought some semblance of balance back to their hollow bones. Too much of the world has clung to them for survival, and peacetime hasn’t truly meant peace for them for the most part. Some days Keith wants to explode and start from zero again and he _needs_ this, they both need it.

Shiro shifts his legs a little, steadying himself, and Keith’s breathing through it while his muscles engulf the crown of Shiro’s cock — he shallow breathes, heart refusing to slow as Shiro fills him and fills him and it doesn’t stop this oceanic want from deepening. He fucks in slow circles, steered by Shiro’s reverent, soft flowing touches over his stomach and over the exaggerated pink of his thighs. It's more than an addiction having the fiery weight of Shiro’s hands all over, pulling on his hips and lengthening his thrusts purposefully so Shiro’s cock can have more and Keith can scream as the deepest part of his core gets struck relentlessly. 

His thighs quiver and it snatches Shiro’s brain into tipping them over into a new position, and honest to the fucking stars Keith could shed tears at how much he loves it, it makes him struggle for his sanity at how Shiro’s hands are touching him, man-handling him, got him spread open exactly how he wants and making him gasp into the humid air. 

Shiro’s sweat drops with every lap of his hips and Keith keeps scraping his nails over Shiro's front, sighing around the pleasure twining itself, rawing him. The rhythm stalls suddenly and Shiro gives himself a few seconds, then with a steadying breath he thrusts back in, eyes closed and eyebrows determined.

Keith throws him a smirk. “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired,” he goads, even though he doesn’t truly mean it. Keith doesn’t think Shiro’s ever flagged during sex, he just keeps going like a beautiful machine primed for this purpose.

“As if I would. I’m fucking made for this heat now, literally,” Shiro smirks and all but ups the ante.

Keith laughs and thinks, _“Yes you are, baby, and I love you so much”_ , and Shiro continues his rhythm, the wet smacking of skin on skin making Keith forestall getting a firm hold on him so he can fall back onto the bed and moan as loud and as long as he wants, gripping the sheets until their threads split. There’s a thin line intimately tied to the raging, wonderful, hotter than the claw of desert heat from his husband and Keith’s own masochistic yearning to keep being overused like this. The bliss is devastating.

“You doing good, baby?”

Keith could cry for real it’s that good. “ _So good_. Love it so much...nnh… _Love you_...” he’s pressing the words into the pads of Shiro’s lips, kisses suffusing every syllable that comes after. Sweat drips down and mingles with their kiss and it’s something electrifying and raw, like sea-salt and caramel, euphoria flooding Keith’s senses full and _Shiro, Shiro, Shiro._

“I’m glad I prepped you a lot for this,” Shiro says between kisses, “Wouldn't be able to stop even if a rogue Galra fleet fell from the sky.“

“Shhh,” Keith hushes, clamping down hard with his legs and effectively stifling that gleeful smirk. “Haven’t you died enough times in your life?”

“It’s the only way I’d wanna go though, between these thighs,” Shiro tells him, and he makes a point of reeling up to burn a line of kisses along Keith’s inner thigh.

And just like that, Keith’s mind blurs to a full-stop. He’s gone half-lidded and soft as cream and _shy_ , of all things. It’s so overwhelming and it's going to make him drag Shiro down with him every time he says something to tumble him over the edge. It aches how much he loves Shiro, with claws and teeth and a searing arterial pulse. He’s leaning up through his legs with starstruck eyes and hauling Shiro down to crush their lips together, leaving tingling trails where Shiro’s sweat drips down and mingles with their kiss — the air between them may well be turning into steam.

“We’re definitely getting off this planet as soon as the flight ban is lifted,” Shiro promises him. 

“Soon,” Keith promises himself, reflecting that want in both of their eyes and seizes Shiro’s mouth in a long kiss.

Until then they’ll have to stay impatient, and very, very needy. Keith will beg and beg with all the voice he has left to have Shiro’s heat pouring into him, those powerful pulses hitting him hot and so deep, great mother of space…

Shiro falls into the crook of his neck and Keith feels himself fold out of shape, so past exhaustion it doesn’t even hurt anymore, only the stretch of an exquisite burn takes up as much space as Shiro does. He smooths his wet legs along Shiro’s sides and keeps him close, all warmth and dazed smiles to ride out this scorching impasse.

☼ 

Keith’s blood's still soaring long after the sex is over. He lies on his stomach, watching the sky turn five different colours before settling into scarlet dusk, unable to move a single inch despite Shiro wiping him down and encouraging him to shower with him. Shiro’s such a sweetheart, Lord, but Keith’s still trapped in high arousal, limbs trembling and his ass clenching down on nothing but air. As much as he’d love round fifty-three in the shower, he’s not ready to be plucked from this position for fear of face-planting straight into a void.

The sound of the shower hums in the background, soothing like the rain Shiro desperately wishes for — and Keith too, to some extent — to douse the charred, smoking embers of himself.

He must’ve dozed off for a time because he awakens to Shiro stroking his hip and flapping a piece of paper in garrison colours under his nose. Disgruntled, he goes to roll away but Shiro stops him, passing him the note. He scans it, scans the garrison logo and the timestamp, the date that's a couple of days old, and — Oh... 

Oh.

When it finally registers, Keith feels like his soul is about to expire. He can’t say anything but, "Fuck," and Shiro's barely contained laughter bursts out as he crashes down next to him, clutching his chest. They laugh like a couple of idiots, unashamed that Scott, their saviour engineer, came and went and is probably hanging them out to dry in the Garrison breakroom as they speak.

“We can never, ever call him back,” Shiro laughs out, absolutely beyond his control.

Keith’s trying to hold in his hysterics but he just ends up laughing more. Tears gather at the corner of his eyes. “Fuck the AC, we’ll just buy more fans.”

Shiro draws him in close, laughs into his skin and Keith clings to him, because outside of what they have here, nothing else really matters. They may have been living for a rainy day, but the furnace will have to do for a while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! <3
> 
> Come say hi on Twitter [@Greendestiny000](https://twitter.com/GreenDestiny000).


End file.
